Allison Iraheta sings Janis Joplin

The blogosphere is abuzz this morning, processing the elimination of seventeen-year old rock-star-to-be Allison Iraheta on last night’s American Idol. The competition is at a point where whomever is eliminated is an outstanding performer and will—if they want it and don’t mind the hard work—have a solid career in the music industry. I think many Idol fans are now voting for their favorite personality, even if their musical performances are marginal. Based on musical performance alone, Danny Gokey’s butchering of Aerosmith’s Dream On should have sent him packing.

Winning American Idol isn’t a golden guarantee of a successful music career.  Anyone who doubts that ought to take another look at Idol’s fifth season. Taylor Hicks took first place, and his flopped first album turned him into “Taylor who?” faster than Simon Cowell can sneer. Like Allison, Chris Daughtry finished the competition in fourth place. After performing live on last night’s program, Daughtry was presented with a little modest wall trinket acknowledging his debut album hitting a phenomenal FIVE MILLION copies sold worldwide. For those in the top ten, Idol opens doors. Once the door is open, they still have to deliver.

Being voted out is an emotional experience, but last night Allison turned all that emotion and heartache inward and delivered a stunning  performance that, if given Tuesday night, could have put her in the top three.

Watching Allison’s stirring farewell performance last night brought back memories of one of my mentors teaching me The FLAP Principle. Whether it’s losing a job, getting the boot from Idol, or a rejection letter from a publisher, the principle is the same: It’s not the rejection, but how you react to it that counts. Always Finish Like A Pro. In Allison’s case, the emotion and heartache of the moment could have been a disaster, but instead she turned them into the one thing she lacks: the soulfulness that comes with life experience. Instead of a blubbering Tatiana-esque scene, she cut loose and belted out  a rendition of Cry Baby that came from a place far deeper than I’ve ever seen her sing. Who could watch that performance and doubt for a second that Allison will be another Idol success story?

As a writer, rejection is a way of life. It hurts. Sometimes it hurts like fire. Sometimes it hurts so much that I want to quit. In those moments, I recall the sage who taught me the FLAP Principal, and I begin looking for ways to turn the rejection into a growth opportunity. If all else fails, I grab hold of all that angst and grief, tell my dead father he was wrong, and after stuffing all that back into my gut I let it pour out on the page, infusing my characters with newer, deeper levels of reality.

Like Allison, we all have to choose how we handle rejection. How do you handle yours?

Contemplating the various Good Friday observances—or lack thereof—taking place today, I found myself recalling a conversation I had fifteen years ago while living in Virginia Beach. I had the privilege of performing the role of High Priest in the tenth anniversary season of The Man Called Jesus, a top-shelf passion play that, with changes of name and venue but the same core personnel and message,  is celebrating it’s twenty-fifth season this week.

My remembrance is a conversation with Robert Klein, an outstanding actor who had performed in the role of Jesus for five years at the time (and is performing his twentieth season in the role this week). Working with Robert was a remarkable experience. His grasp of character and focused portrayal was so intense that, as High Priest, it was all I could do to not fall on my face and repent. Talking with him one day during rehearsal, I asked him about his experience developing the character. Preparing the character for the first time changed his life forever, because he had to focus on seeing things as Jesus would see them. After five years, he believed preparing for that role was the greatest spiritual growth exercise in his life.

Think about it. Jesus knew exactly what would happen. He knew the mission he had to accomplish. He knew that every road he traveled led to an agonizing death on a cruel Roman cross. With that knowledge, every photon that entered his eyes took on greater meaning and intensity.  Given his deeper knowledge, what did Jesus see as from his unique vantage point on the Cross?

The eyes of Jesus’ body had a good view of the crowd gathered at Golgotha. A strange and unusual mix of people the diverse crowd that gathered to witness his execution wasn’t a crowd in Jesus’ eyes. Jesus saw a gathering of individuals, each with their own life experience, identity and viewpoint. Roman soldiers rolled the dice just beneath Him, dividing His clothing among them. A group of women wept, mourning the one that they had loved and followed. Jewish elders hurled insults, challenging His claim to be the Christ: “He saved others, but he cannot save himself.” Jesus’ disciples gathered, confused by their leader’s apparent surrender. His mother wept, releasing thirty-three years of motherly angst, knowing that her boy was the Son of God, knowing that this day would come. Just as in today’s church, a sea of spectators gathered around these main players, the same fickle crowd that hailed Him as King of the Jews just a week before that dark day when they called for Barabbas’ release and Jesus’ crucifixion.

The eyes of Jesus’ soul saw each person in the gathering, their needs, their hurts, their misunderstanding. As he looked at his mother, Jesus felt her heartache at watching her son die a slow, miserable death. He commissioned the disciple John to care for Mary as his own mother, a compassionate act that not only served his mother’s needs, but the needs of his disciple to love and serve his dying Lord.

The mob of bloodthirsty onlookers must have caused Jesus’ tender heart to break. They didn’t even begin to understand the redemptive scene they witnessed.  Jesus felt no anger or bitterness, as you or I might. He looked at them with eyes full of compassion, longing for them to accept the sacrifice he offered on their behalf. He prayed, “Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they’re doing.”

Jesus’ disciples—the men with whom He had traveled and lived with for three years—had no more insight than the ignorant mob. He saw their confusion,heartache, and utter cluelessness.  Of all those gathered, only Jesus fully understood what took place that day, but he knew that in time his disciples’ mourning would turn into laughter, their tears into shouts of joy, their discouragement into vision and purpose.

The eyes of Jesus’ Spirit saw what only he could comprehend. For the first time in all eternity, Jesus experienced isolation from his Father and understood the depth of human depravity and sin. Demons danced around him with delight, celebrating their supposed victory—but with eyes not limited in time and space, Jesus also saw those demons cowering in darkened corners three days later. He saw an eternal bridge, christened with his blood, that would allow mankind the same intimate, personal relationship with God that Adam and Eve enjoyed in Eden before they sinned. When others saw only defeat, Jesus saw victory.

The dying Messiah looked beyond His momentary pain and saw 3000 people receiving His salvation on the day of Pentecost as cowardly Peter, who had denied Him three times, boldly preached under the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. Further down the timeline, Saul of Tarsus, a vicious enemy of the Gospel, accepted the free gift of grace made possible only by Jesus’ sacrifice. An Ethiopian eunuch baptized by Phillip in a roadside pool took the good news to his homeland. Countless generations of mankind passed before the Savior’s eyes, generations for whom His sacrifice made possible salvation by grace through faith. Some accepted, some refused, but all made their choice between the free gift of eternal life and the self-chosen curse of eternal death. Billions made their decisions as he watched, individuals making their personal choice between grace and condemnation, death and life. Al Capone, D.L. Moody, Adolf Hitler, Billy Graham—each made their own personal, eternal choices.

Then Jesus saw you, and He knew your name.

He could have stopped his suffering. He had the authority to call a legion of angels to set Him free. Instead, He cried out, “Father, into your hands I commit my Spirit.”

Then, He bowed His head—and He died.

Because He thought you were worth it.

The Bad News: They’ve finally caught me, and I’m going to jail on April 1, 2009.

The Good News: I’ll only be incarcerated for an hour, and with your help, I’ll do some good while I’m in lockup.

When I was invited to participate in the West Little Rock MDA Lockup on April 1, 2009, I frankly had reservations. We’re all recessing these days (in the midst of a recession, for you linear types), some have lost jobs, even more have suffered pay cuts, and I don’t even want to discuss my porcelain-wrapped 401(k). It just doesn’t seem like a good time to be asking people for financial contributions.

In fact, I almost dropped out. It would be a lot easier. It’s not like I don’t have anything to do with my time. Let me tell you why I decided to stick it out.

The MDA Lockup isn’t about me. It’s not about you, either. It’s about helping children who are afflicted with Muscular Dystrophy and it’s rotten cousins. The kids we’re talking about know what tough times are all about. Many earned their sufferer stripes long before the stock market tanked. Their parents are on a rough ride, too; as if having a child with a serious, life-threatening disease isn’t enough, the parents of these children are also dealing with the same economic challenges as the rest of us.

And I thought I was having a bad year.

I’ve decided to stay the course and do what I can to help these kids and their parents, and I could really use your help. Yes, I know times are tough. If you can’t help right now, I understand. Don’t let guilt creep in and ruin your day, just wish me well and remember I still love you.

However, if you can help–even if it’s only skipping that latte and donating the cash–the kids will sure appreciate it, and so will I.

You can make safe, secure online donations by clicking here before April 1, 2009. Pay no attention to the inflated goal that’s been set for me, and don’t let the suggested donation amounts guilt you into neglecting your own kids’ needs. Do whatever you can. Your contribution—no matter how small—will make a difference for families who need our help. If you have problems with that link, here’s the web address to cut and paste:

https://www.joinmda.org/wlrlockup09/dancase

By the way, if you need an additional incentive, I have it on good authority that the good folks at MDA might agree to keep me locked up somewhere in exchange for an appropriate contribution.

All I wanted to do was upgrade the litterbox.

A simple project. Straightforward. Uncomplicated.

We have one of those automatic, self-raking litter boxes manufactured by Littermaid. With three kitties in our herd, we of course have the Mega-Elite-Super-Duper-Pooper-Scooper model.

My brief review of this product is, unfortunately, a sound that readers may find offensive. If you have one cat with minimum bathroom needs, the Littermaid may suit you just fine, although I still wouldn’t recommend it. The concept is solid, but somewhere between the concept department and the how-cheap-can-we-build-it department the solid concept turned into cheap plastics and cheesy mechanisms that wear out too soon and require too much day-to-day attention.

One of our three feline masters insists on the box being pristine, and if she is not satisfied, she will make her displeasure known with malodorous deposits left in inappropriate places (shoes, for example). The teeny little disposable waste container in the Littermaid (designed  to sell replacement containers in copious quantities) is way too small. My three can load that thing full in a day if they’re in the mood.

With the raking mechanism jamming, poor self-cleaning and protest poops on the rise, we had to do something to improve the facilities. One serious contender made by LitterWorks is a stand designed to work with the Littermaid and expand it’s waste storage to more adequate proportions. A great idea, interesting design, and although I’ve never seen one in person, I know from contact with the manufacturer that it’s a quality item made completely from birch plywood without a single speck of particle board (a material oddly akin to what the product helps dispose). Add up the cost of the cabinet and a new Littermaid, and it’s a bit pricey. Given the experience we’ve had with our current Littermaid box, Litterworks still fell short.

Then, I found what we hope will be our solution: The Cat Genie.

This ingenious litterbox is self-washing, just like our cats. Hook it up to a cold water faucet and a suitable drain, and it cleans and sanitizes itself on the schedule you set. If it works as advertised (and I’ve yet to find a displeased Cat Genie owner), it’s downright brilliant. Pricey, for sure, but with the right combination of free shipping, package pricing, and discount codes, not out of line compared tom the other options. After careful consideration, I ordered the Cat Genie Tuxedo Package,which includes a privacy dome and extra supplies.

Since the Cat Genie needs water and sewer connections, the old cat box location wouldn’t work. I put my brilliant engineering mind to work and soon had a plan. We’d locate the Cat Genie in the downstairs bathroom/laundry room. All I’d have to do is cut down the oversize vanity cabinet to make a place for the new feline facility.

No sweat.

As I began planning the project, the usual array of small collateral issues arose. Rather than cut down the old cabinet, we decided to replace it with a nice, new white vanity and cultured marble top. The mirror would then be too big, so we had to replace it, too. The smaller cabinet would produce a gap in the 30+ year old dark walnut wainscoting, we hated that wainscoting anyway, so we decided to take it all down (fortunately, it wasn’t glued, just nailed.) Since we were taking down the wainscoting, the hideous wallpaper above it would have to go, and we’d paint the walls a nice color instead. Then the dark wood wall cabinet wouldn’t look right, so we had to paint that, too. The one-piece vinyl  floor would have gaps both at the front and side of the new vanity, and it wouldn’t do to put a litter box on an unfinished floor, so we added a new floor to the list.

In the matter of a couple of hours planning, our simple “cut down a cabinet” job topped $1,000—plus the cost of the CatGenie. So much for that “simple project we can afford” thing. Sharon and I sat down, re-evaluated, and found an alternate location in the same room that required not a single dime’s worth of remodeling but still allowed us to use the laundry drain and water supply. Problem solved!

Then I went down to the room to measure for water and waste hoses and see if I would need more than the standard hoses that come with the unit. The wallpaper had pulled up a little behind the washing machine, next to the drain and faucet box in the wall. I smoothed the paper with my finger, a nit-picky detail-oriented sort of reaction.

My finger went through the Sheetrock.

I pulled the vinyl walpaper back a little and was greeted by ugly black mold and wet, mushy Sheetrock. After moving the washer and dryer out of the way, I discovered that the drain had been overflowing. Not a lot, just a little bit every time the washer drained. Not enough to spill on the floor, just enough to run down the inside of the wall under the laundrybox trim. I began removing the wet Sheetrock. Two hours later, the lower half of that wall–just under thirty square feet–lay bare, exposing black mold under the wainscoting, black mold under the vinyl wall paper, and black mold on the wall studs.

As mold infestations go, this was a fairly minor incident requiring no outside remediation. After ripping out the wet Sheetrock, wood paneling and insulation, I scrubbed the moldy studs with household cleaner mixed with Twenty Mule Team Borax, an old-fashioned natural product that’s become fashionable again in recent days and is quite effective at neutralizing mold (bleach removes mold stains, but is an ineffective mold killer). After thoroughly drying the wall cavity and raising the laundry box from the minimum allowable height to 42″, I applied a vapor barrier, insulation and new Sheetrock. Better than new.

Unfortunately, we lost some of the wainscoting in the process, as well as some of the hideous wallpaper between the wainscoting and ceiling. We couldn’t match either even if we wanted too, and the room would look even worse with one nice, painted wall and three hideous walls that triggered flashbacks from the ’70′s, so we surrendered to good taste and stripped the other walls as well.  The baseboard and quarter-round had to come up to remove the wainscoting, and wouldn’t give up without a fight that turned it into dumpster bait. We wanted the trim work to be white, so to keep everything matching, we painted the wall cabinet and vanity. The majority of the laundry list of upgrades and repairs I thought I’d escaped had to be done anyway. The only expenses we were able to avoid were the new vanity, mirror, and flooring. Fortunately, those were the most expensive items on the original list. The insulation, Sheetrock, and other wall repair materials cost a lot less.

A week later, the room is put back together, lacking only cabinet doors (still to be painted) and a new mini-blind for the old mini-window. The Cat Genie is still in the box, but not for long.

After all this, that Cat Genie had better be the best thing since clumping litter.

Look up at your browser’s address bar. It’s okay, you have my permission to look up there. Go ahead. Do it. You know you want to.

There, now doesn’t that feel better? Notice anything different up there?

Just in case you missed it, this site is no longer dancaseblog.com. You can obviously get here if you type dancaseblog.com or use a link to that URL, but you aren’t really going there. Instead, the wonders of modern technology will deliver you to http://www.danielfcase.com.

If you have bookmarks or feed readers pointed here, please update them to the new address.

So, why the change? From this point forward, my identity as a novelist is no longer Dan Case. Instead, I’m using my full name, Daniel F. Case. This will help eliminate any confusion between me and the other Dan Case who’s a writer—and who owns dancase.com, and with whom I’ve been confused a time or two. And in addition to that benefit, Daniel F. Case just sounds classier and more authorial, more like James Scott Bell or William P. Young or Kermit T. Frog.

Oh, yeah—and I own the domain name, too.

In other news:

We’re officially past the euphoric “Hey, I won Genesis!” phase and into the “Don’t waste it, you idiot!” phase, with all its writing and re-writing and proposals and re-proposals. I’ve chosen an agent who’s the right fit for me, Rachelle Gardner with Wordserve Literary. We’re close to sending out proposals, which will usher me into the “start another project to keep my mind off the long wait that follows” phase.

I’ve got plenty to do while waiting. Books to write, ideas to hatch, magazines to query, and, of course, websites to “Danielize.”

Stay tuned!

I’m in North Carolina this week, just outside Asheville at the beautiful Ridgecrest Conference Center, one of my favorite away-from-home places in the world. Ever since I met my sweetheart in Greensboro and we honeymooned on the Outer Banks, I’ve had a special place in my heart for Carolina (only yankees and outsiders call it “North” Carolina). I love the sea oats, sand and salt air on the coast, but if I had to choose, I think I’d choose Ridgecrest (and a good car so we could drive to the outer banks regularly).

If you’ve read my blog at all, you’ve already heard me wax poetisophical about Ridgecrest, and I won’t replay those previous waxings However, some cool things have happened here since my last visit in May, like the progress on the new Convention Center buildings.

Southeast corner, viewed from parking lot of The ARC

Another view from The ARC Parking lot, with Rhododendron behind the new building

This cluster of structures is enormous; one picture can’t even come close to doing it justice, so I took a boatload and selected five in an attempt to show the expanse of the new facility that spans the gap between the Rhododendron/Dogwood buildings and the Mountain Laurel Inns.

Overhead View (From Mountain Laurel 3rd floor)

Initial Framework of the Connection to Mountain Laurel

As I understand it, when the facility is complete it will be possible to have a sizable convention or other gathering (such as the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference in May) and never have to step outdoors. I’ll miss the “umbrella or no umbrella” challenge, but not much.

View from back corner of Dogwood, with Mountain Laurel in the distance, behind the new complex

I can hardly wait to see what great things God does with this new facility. We could get a lot of writers in all that space!

Whew! It’s been a crazy few days in Dan-land. I attended the annual ACFW Conference last Thursday through Sunday, and I’m just now getting to the place where I’m slowing down to catch my breath. Crazy days, to be sure—but good crazy.

Check it out! I won!

Yup, that’s me. Do I look a little giddy? Well, I should, because I was. My novel The Voice took first place in the 2008 ACFW Genesis contest, Contemporary Fiction category.

It was a surreal moment for me. Sure, I knew there was a 1 in 5 chance I’d win. There was also a 4 in 5 chance that I wouldn’t, and the other competitors were far from weak writers. I decided well in advance that I’d maybe take third place, with a slim shot at second. After third and second were announced, I wasn’t sure what to think.

When I heard my name and title, I think I stopped breathing for a few seconds. By the time I took my first step toward the stage, I knew exactly how I had to deliver my 30-second acceptance speech.

You see, early Thursday morning just before leaving for the airport, my wife Sharon told me she really wanted to go to the conference with me this year, because she knew I would win and she wanted to be there to see it. She may have said something early on, but she never pursued it because it would be an expensive trip and we had a lot of expense this year. I could see it in her eyes. She honestly believed I would win. She deserved to come along if she wanted to; I could never do any of this without her love and support. Had I known sooner, I would have found a way to cover the cost—but it was too late.

On my way to the stage, I pulled out my cellphone and called her. I had just stepped onto the stage when she answered and I gave her the news from the podium. I can’t recall every word of my acceptance speech; I wish I had a recording so I knew what all I said. There is, however, one part I remember well. I thanked God for the woman on the phone, someone who was not surprised to hear I had won first place, would not be surprised when I receive a contract from the wise publishing house that buys The Voice, and she will not be surprised if one day she sees my name on a best-seller list. She believes in me even when I don’t believe in myself, sees great things in me I cannot always see, and is the very best Gift God ever gave me, second only to Salvation. She’s my wife, Sharon, and without her I would have never been at that podium.

I concluded by having all 600 or so attendees greet Sharon as I held up the phone. I believe the resounding roar made even the rowdy, chicken-dancing wedding party next door pause, even if for only a moment.

So, I’m now a Genesis winner. There was a lot of interest in The Voice before the awards, and even more afterward. I have editors and agents pursuing me, quite a change from the normal routine. As I told a couple of folks that night, my new goal is to become disqualified for next year’s Genesis contest (contracted authors are ineligible).

I’ve had my thirty seconds of fame and I’m back in Little Rock, back at the keyboard, getting back into the routine of life. Before me stands a frightening question.

Can I deliver what I’ve promised?

Watch this space and find out.